“Touché.” His voice was a harsh whisper.
For a while there was silence between us. He was staring into the distance, his face outlined by the glow of the setting sun. I stood there, wretched, beside him, fiddling with the strap of the binoculars. I hadn’t intended to make him angry. I hadn’t meant to sound so patronizing, so judgmental.
“Why are we doing this, Alice? Why are we fighting?” He turned toward me, one hand still on the wheel. “You’re about to go to France—and I wish to God you weren’t. All I wanted was to tell you what I’ve been meaning to say ever since we were standing here, like this, a month ago.”
His eyes had a liquid softness, so different from the piercing look he’d given me just moments before. Suddenly he was kissing me. I could taste the sea on his lips, feel the roughness of the stubble peppering his skin. Waves slapped against the bow, rocking my body against his. I closed my eyes. And a moment later the sky above us exploded.
Chapter 21
An earsplitting roar of engines pulled us apart. He pushed me down so hard I caught my arm on the engine housing. I felt the weight of him on top of me as the planes screamed past. When the noise began to subside, I felt his hair brush my cheek as he raised his head.
“Junkers. Six of them. Heading south.” He got up and held out his hands to me. “Sorry—I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
I shook my head as he helped me to my feet. “Why didn’t they fire?”
He patted the wheel. “No Luftwaffe pilot would waste ammunition on a bunch of French fishermen.”
“What the hell was that?” The shout came from the stern of the boat. Through the glass I saw a head emerge from below. Soon all five men were standing on the deck, craning their necks, shading their eyes against the orange glimmer of the sky. I took the wheel while Jack went to talk to them.
There was no chance for us to be alone again after that. Everyone was on edge, wondering if the planes would come back, afraid that their presence signaled the start of other enemy action. I went belowdecks but it was impossible to sleep. My mouth burned where Jack’s lips had touched me. Blood pounded in my ears as if I’d been transported to the bottom of the ocean, beneath the waves that crashed against the boat. The fusion of emotions—elation, agitation, fear, confusion—overwhelmed me.
Images of myself, dressed as a nun, as I would be in a few hours’ time, flashed alongside close-ups of Jack’s face, one moment angry and contemptuous, the next ardent and tender. Was he angry with me or with himself? Why had he kissed me after dismissing my advice as na?ve and hypocritical? Was a man like Jack—so guilt ridden and conflicted—capable of loving someone? Was his heart too poisoned by his inability to forgive himself? I feared that kissing me had been a desperate, meaningless act, a way of escaping from things he couldn’t face up to.
It seemed no time at all before I heard the rumble of La Coquille’s anchor chain tumbling over the side of the boat. One of the men called down to me. I didn’t respond at first. My brain was so befuddled I didn’t recognize my code name. The second time he shouted I jumped up. If I was going to be of any use on the mission, I needed to pull myself together. People’s lives depended on me being quick thinking and alert. I took a deep breath and went up on deck.
Jack was waiting on the starboard side, ready to release the rope that held the dinghy once I had climbed into it with the others. I had to go first, so that the men who were going to hide under the tarpaulin could position themselves under my feet.
“Good luck.” Jack squeezed my arm as I went over the side. “See you tomorrow.”
As I scrambled down the ladder, I sent up a silent prayer. Tomorrow seemed an eternity away.
I had a strange sense of déjà vu as the dinghy headed for the shore. It was exactly like the last time: the mackerel line in my hand, four bodies in the belly of the boat, the silhouette of a man pulling on oars. The only difference was that this time, I was the only woman.
The handover was easier than it had been on the previous mission. None of those waiting to be picked up had any injuries. I stayed where I was in the stern while one of them rowed back to La Coquille, saving my strength for the next stage of the operation.
There was a moment of panic when what looked like a patrol boat headed in our direction. But it turned out to be a lone fisherman setting lobster pots. I shouted a greeting in French, then wished him more success than we were having with the mackerel. This seemed to satisfy him. He waved as we rowed away.